I've been sick. I'm not saying that to upset you. But simply to explain why I have been derelict in my duties. Even if I had not been sick, saying "I've been sick," is such a simple way to get by with stuff. But, I really have been sick. I won't go into details, but if phlegm were as valuable as, let's say, oil, I'd be a rich man today.
I finally went to the doctor. He said I had asthmatic bronchitis. I guess what that means is that I had bronchitis and my bronchitis had asthma.
Anyway, I was sick. I have spent a lot of time lying in bed, watching TV and reading. My wife has this book on natural remedies for every illness imaginable. I've always thought such books were written for hypochondriacs, but, after spending the past couple of weeks reading the book, I now realize that I suffer from a lot more than asthmatic bronchitis.
This book lists each disease or disorder and then gives the symptoms. I have almost everything. For instance, it's obvious I have diverticulitis. Since I was a boy, I've been telling anyone who would listen that I have a very redundant sigmoid colon, but no one believed.
I also think I have mercury poisoning. The symptoms were not that clearly spelled out, but it just sounds like the sort of thing that makes me feel so poorly. You know, that blah feeling that so many of us get from time to time? Mercury poisoning.
It would also appear, from reading the symptoms, that I have bulimia. I guess I just keep forgetting to purge.
I think it's pretty clear that I am also a LLS sufferer. Yes, I have Listless Leg Syndrome. Sometimes my legs just go to sleep while I'm walking. And, I can't count the number of times I've been sitting and watching TV and knew I had to get up to use the restroom, but my legs just didn't have it in them to take me there. Let me tell you something I've learned about those bathroom urges. They don't go away. The problem doesn't just resolve itself. I've discovered that even if you don't get up to go to the bathroom, you still go to the bathroom, if you know what I'm trying to say. I think my fellow LLS sufferers can relate to this better than the rest of you.
Now, by this point, you're probably becoming quite alarmed. "How does this young man even find the strength to write?" you're probably asking yourself.
Don't worry. I'm like a cat. I always land on my feet. Although with my fallen arches, sometimes that can be quite painful. But, I do go on.
The great thing about all this is that now, after reading this masterfully-written book, I know that I really am sick. For years, my family has suspected that I'm making all this stuff up. They've thought I tended to be just a bit neurotic. But, I guess I'm getting the last laugh here.
Actually, despite my reputation, truth be known, I'm in excellent health, considering how sick I am. I guess I'm just a trooper, or something like that.
Anyway, I think my bronchitis is gone. I've improved to the point that I'm now feeling no worse than if I simply had a very bad cold. And, actually I'm feeling better today than I have in weeks. Let me just check my pulse and my blood sugar level and I'm ready to go to work.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
No Small Fete
Someone pointed out to me yesterday that I've now written two blogs (acronym for Brilliantly Literate Online Gems) on shoelaces. So? What's your point? I could write a column every day on shoelaces, or at least on feet related material. When it comes to feet, I have lots of thoughts. For starters, and some of you already know this about me, I suffer from toe phobia. I've been told it's acute. I cannot stand anyone to touch my toes.
If I was ever interrogated by the police, all they would need to do is start pulling my toes. I'd cave in an instant. I think I also have a police interrogation phobia. I'm always worrying about how easy it would be for the police to get me to confess to anything.
I've seen these Court TV stories about someone who confesses to killing fifty people and leads the police to all those dead bodies and then his lawyer gets in court and tells the judge that the guy made the confession under duress and that he never killed anyone, and there the guy just sits there smiling as if to say, "Silly me."
I used to think that no one would confess unless they had actually done the crime, but, now that my mind is on my toes, I can see how someone might confess to being a serial killer if the police were pulling his toes. I just hope that before the police get a hold of my feet that the Democrats do something to pass some sort of anti-torture law.
Speaking of torture, I'd been reading about how some people are upset at the show 24 because Jack Bauer uses too much torture. I am not a lover of violence, but I thought I'd check the show out. i'd never watched it before this year. It is a pretty well written show, but the fact that everything happens in a 24 hour period dampens some of the impact.
For instance, one of the characters, a recovering alcoholic, fell off the wagon, compromised national security, recovered again, and went on to perform his job beautifully, all within a period of a couple of hours. Hey, if all my problems could be over and done with in one day, I'd have no problems.
Then, there's Jack's sister-in-law. Her husband, Jack's brother, is killed and within an hour or two she's hitting on Jack. I would think a grieving widow would need at least 36 hours to really get over the loss of her mate, but then what do I know about such things?
Also within the first twelve hours, Jack has escaped death about fifteen times. At about nine in the morning, he said, "I can't go on doing this." But, by three in the afternoon, he's recovered and has renewed his determination to go on torturing in the name of either national security or just good TV drama.
So, do you see what I just accomplished? I've cleverly woven my feet into Jack Bauer's life. Now let me segue back. I do enjoy 24, but if they ever start torturing terrorists' toes, i'm tuning out. That would be disgusting.
By the way, did i ever tell you about the time I tried to kill a cab driver with my shoelace? I'll save that for another day.
If I was ever interrogated by the police, all they would need to do is start pulling my toes. I'd cave in an instant. I think I also have a police interrogation phobia. I'm always worrying about how easy it would be for the police to get me to confess to anything.
I've seen these Court TV stories about someone who confesses to killing fifty people and leads the police to all those dead bodies and then his lawyer gets in court and tells the judge that the guy made the confession under duress and that he never killed anyone, and there the guy just sits there smiling as if to say, "Silly me."
I used to think that no one would confess unless they had actually done the crime, but, now that my mind is on my toes, I can see how someone might confess to being a serial killer if the police were pulling his toes. I just hope that before the police get a hold of my feet that the Democrats do something to pass some sort of anti-torture law.
Speaking of torture, I'd been reading about how some people are upset at the show 24 because Jack Bauer uses too much torture. I am not a lover of violence, but I thought I'd check the show out. i'd never watched it before this year. It is a pretty well written show, but the fact that everything happens in a 24 hour period dampens some of the impact.
For instance, one of the characters, a recovering alcoholic, fell off the wagon, compromised national security, recovered again, and went on to perform his job beautifully, all within a period of a couple of hours. Hey, if all my problems could be over and done with in one day, I'd have no problems.
Then, there's Jack's sister-in-law. Her husband, Jack's brother, is killed and within an hour or two she's hitting on Jack. I would think a grieving widow would need at least 36 hours to really get over the loss of her mate, but then what do I know about such things?
Also within the first twelve hours, Jack has escaped death about fifteen times. At about nine in the morning, he said, "I can't go on doing this." But, by three in the afternoon, he's recovered and has renewed his determination to go on torturing in the name of either national security or just good TV drama.
So, do you see what I just accomplished? I've cleverly woven my feet into Jack Bauer's life. Now let me segue back. I do enjoy 24, but if they ever start torturing terrorists' toes, i'm tuning out. That would be disgusting.
By the way, did i ever tell you about the time I tried to kill a cab driver with my shoelace? I'll save that for another day.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Tied To Be Fit
I’m feeling positively radiant today. They say that we all need to stop and do something nice for ourselves once in awhile. And, I’m living testimony today that this is so true. In fact, if you were to look at me today, you’d probably say I was glowing.
I don’t usually splurge. I always look for the cheapest item. But yesterday, I said to myself, “Steve, you’re worth it.”
So, I went to Richmond’s top shoe store, Saxon Shoes. No more Shoe Barn for me, I thought. Plus, there wasn’t a Goodwill store anywhere nearby. So, I marched right in and after considerable deliberation, I bought myself a pair of shoe laces.
Yep, you heard me right...shoe laces from the very best shoe store in, perhaps, the entire world. True to form, I received excellent customer service, and I returned that by being an excellent customer. The young lady approached me at the shoe lace rack, and asked if she could be of assistance. I really thought I’d be able to make the decision myself, but, hey, why not let an expert help me out? I had told you previously that my last pair of shoe laces were purchased at Food Lion. I made some horrible mistakes that day. For one thing, I bought brown laces for black shoes. They don’t match. Who knew?
Then I bought laces that could have been used to hold a body cast together. They must have been 100 inches or so. Those days are behind me. From now on, all my shoe laces come from Saxon’s.
It really does pay to have professional assistance when it comes to such things. You see this woman didn’t just guess at what I needed. She examined my shoes. I was a little embarrassed, since they had come from Shoe Barn, via Goodwill. But she didn’t let on that my shoes looked hideous. She looked back up at me like I was a real customer.
Then she looked at the back of the shoe lace container. They actually had a little guide to help you pick the right length....27. I’ll remember that from now on. I need 27 inches of shoe lace. Really, to be technical, I need 54, since I’m buying for two feet.
Anyway, the woman selected a pair of those round shoe laces. I was holding flat in my hand at the time, but she looked at me as if I had made a rather gauche selection. That’s probably my insecurities talking there, because actually, she just looked at the laces and reached for the round ones.
“Those come undone too easily,” I told her. I figure since I’m the one with the buying power here, I may as well get what I want. She then looked through Saxon’s extensive shoe lace selection and picked out a pair of flat laces.
“Are these guaranteed not to ever come untied?” I asked her seriously. I don’t think she thought I was serious, though. She just smiled and kinda ignored that question.
Anyway, I’m standing there holding the pack of shoe laces. I do what even those who splurge occasionally must do. I turned the package over and looked at the price...$1.50.
I froze. Should I pay a buck, fifty for a pair of shoe laces. I’d only paid 99 cents at Food Lion. I started to put them back, but, I remembered what I’d told myself about being worth it. To give me the courage I needed, I looked at myself in the mirror and repeated that little speech. Of course, because I was in a shoe store, the mirror was only a foot off the floor, so I had to crawl over to the mirror and give the speech.
The nice lady waited patiently until I crawled back over to the shoe lace rack. “I’ll take them,” I said proudly.
She smiled. I’m figuring that if the gal’s on commission, that’s probably the easiest fifteen cents she’ll ever make.
I take my shoe laces to the counter and immediately hand the cashier my dollar bill and fifty-eight cents in exact change. Yep, the ol’ sales tax. Almost forgot about that, but I figure I’m worth it.
The lady put my laces in a nice golden Saxon’s bag. At a dollar fifty for a pair of laces, I’m thinking I deserve a golden bag. But, here’s the kicker. This morning I go to put my brand new shoe laces in my shoes, and, lo and behold, the package has two pair! Not two laces, two pair. I got a steal! I wonder if the folks at Saxon’s know about that. I can’t believe they could let four laces go for a buck, fifty. But, anyway, I put the other laces in my drawer. I’m figuring I got enough shoe laces to last me a lifetime...and top dollar laces at that. But, you know what? I’m worth it.
I don’t usually splurge. I always look for the cheapest item. But yesterday, I said to myself, “Steve, you’re worth it.”
So, I went to Richmond’s top shoe store, Saxon Shoes. No more Shoe Barn for me, I thought. Plus, there wasn’t a Goodwill store anywhere nearby. So, I marched right in and after considerable deliberation, I bought myself a pair of shoe laces.
Yep, you heard me right...shoe laces from the very best shoe store in, perhaps, the entire world. True to form, I received excellent customer service, and I returned that by being an excellent customer. The young lady approached me at the shoe lace rack, and asked if she could be of assistance. I really thought I’d be able to make the decision myself, but, hey, why not let an expert help me out? I had told you previously that my last pair of shoe laces were purchased at Food Lion. I made some horrible mistakes that day. For one thing, I bought brown laces for black shoes. They don’t match. Who knew?
Then I bought laces that could have been used to hold a body cast together. They must have been 100 inches or so. Those days are behind me. From now on, all my shoe laces come from Saxon’s.
It really does pay to have professional assistance when it comes to such things. You see this woman didn’t just guess at what I needed. She examined my shoes. I was a little embarrassed, since they had come from Shoe Barn, via Goodwill. But she didn’t let on that my shoes looked hideous. She looked back up at me like I was a real customer.
Then she looked at the back of the shoe lace container. They actually had a little guide to help you pick the right length....27. I’ll remember that from now on. I need 27 inches of shoe lace. Really, to be technical, I need 54, since I’m buying for two feet.
Anyway, the woman selected a pair of those round shoe laces. I was holding flat in my hand at the time, but she looked at me as if I had made a rather gauche selection. That’s probably my insecurities talking there, because actually, she just looked at the laces and reached for the round ones.
“Those come undone too easily,” I told her. I figure since I’m the one with the buying power here, I may as well get what I want. She then looked through Saxon’s extensive shoe lace selection and picked out a pair of flat laces.
“Are these guaranteed not to ever come untied?” I asked her seriously. I don’t think she thought I was serious, though. She just smiled and kinda ignored that question.
Anyway, I’m standing there holding the pack of shoe laces. I do what even those who splurge occasionally must do. I turned the package over and looked at the price...$1.50.
I froze. Should I pay a buck, fifty for a pair of shoe laces. I’d only paid 99 cents at Food Lion. I started to put them back, but, I remembered what I’d told myself about being worth it. To give me the courage I needed, I looked at myself in the mirror and repeated that little speech. Of course, because I was in a shoe store, the mirror was only a foot off the floor, so I had to crawl over to the mirror and give the speech.
The nice lady waited patiently until I crawled back over to the shoe lace rack. “I’ll take them,” I said proudly.
She smiled. I’m figuring that if the gal’s on commission, that’s probably the easiest fifteen cents she’ll ever make.
I take my shoe laces to the counter and immediately hand the cashier my dollar bill and fifty-eight cents in exact change. Yep, the ol’ sales tax. Almost forgot about that, but I figure I’m worth it.
The lady put my laces in a nice golden Saxon’s bag. At a dollar fifty for a pair of laces, I’m thinking I deserve a golden bag. But, here’s the kicker. This morning I go to put my brand new shoe laces in my shoes, and, lo and behold, the package has two pair! Not two laces, two pair. I got a steal! I wonder if the folks at Saxon’s know about that. I can’t believe they could let four laces go for a buck, fifty. But, anyway, I put the other laces in my drawer. I’m figuring I got enough shoe laces to last me a lifetime...and top dollar laces at that. But, you know what? I’m worth it.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Imagine That
I saw a preview for a movie the other day and it really got me to thinking. It’s about this little girl who has this imaginary friend, except the imaginary friend isn’t really imaginary. Now, in this movie, the imaginary friend was evil, but what I got to thinking was suppose in real life imaginary friends aren’t really imaginary.
There are a lot of details I haven’t worked out yet…like, who these imaginary friends really are, and where they’re from, but just suppose, that they’re like some sort of invisible people who hang out with kids and then when the kids grow up, they move on to other kids.
You’re probably thinking I’ve flipped out, but I’m just saying, “Suppose this were true.” I’m not saying I believe it, but I do keep an open mind, so I got to thinking there’s one way to find out if imaginary friends are real. And that is to ask you if you have ever encountered my imaginary friends. I had two of them, but I haven’t seen them, or not seen them since I was about six years old. Their names were Gabbi and Ding Dong. Do those names ring a bell (no pun intended)?
I wonder if some of you have ever encountered those two wacky guys. Now Gabbi really wasn’t so wacky. He definitely was the wiser of the two, always there with good advice for me. Ding Dong on the other hand was just plain silly. For instance, it was Ding Dong who told me that the manhole in front of the apartment I lived in on Cary Street had a man living in it. “Why else would they call it a manhole?” Ding Dong once asked me. It made perfect sense to me. I used to spend several hours a day collecting cigarette butts to feed the man in the manhole. I think the butts idea was Ding Dong’s as well.
Gabbi was more of an older brother type…a protector if you will. I used to ride my red fire engine up and down the sidewalk all day and no one ever bothered me. I think that was because of Gabbi.
Gabbi was also the one who told me about Magic Alka Seltzer. Have you ever heard of it? It was good for all sorts of problems. For instance, if we were playing cops and robbers, and I got shot, I’d just pop a Magic Alka Seltzer in my mouth (imaginarily, that is) and my wounds would go away. In fact, Magic Alka Seltzer could even bring you back from the dead. Since my brothers were constantly killing me, in our games, that is, Magic Alka Seltzer was of real benefit. And believe you me; the Magic Alka Seltzer was very frustrating to them.
That’s been a half century ago and I have a feeling that Gabbi and Ding Dong are no longer working the Carytown beat. You don’t see kids out, by themselves, playing in the alleys and on the sidewalks, like you did when I was a kid. Parents lock the kids in the house, behind chains and deadbolts and the like. True, many of the old houses and apartments have been converted into stores, but there are still plenty of houses down that way. I don’t suppose the man is still in the manhole, although there are some folks roaming the street that look as if that may be where they’ve come from.
I have to admit, I haven’t heard anyone mention Gabbi and Ding Dong in many, many years. I think when my family moved to Roanoke when I was six, they came along. So, they might still be down that way. If you see ‘em, or, rather, don’t see ‘em, tell them I said “hello.”
By the time one reaches their mid-fifties, a large number of the non-imaginary people he or she has loved the most in life, are no longer around. I would think that’s the especially bad part about living to really old age…you see virtually everyone you have ever loved die.
I guess that’s a big part of the reason I’d like to meet up with Gabbi and Ding Dong again. I’d love to get my hands on some of that Magic Alka Seltzer.
There are a lot of details I haven’t worked out yet…like, who these imaginary friends really are, and where they’re from, but just suppose, that they’re like some sort of invisible people who hang out with kids and then when the kids grow up, they move on to other kids.
You’re probably thinking I’ve flipped out, but I’m just saying, “Suppose this were true.” I’m not saying I believe it, but I do keep an open mind, so I got to thinking there’s one way to find out if imaginary friends are real. And that is to ask you if you have ever encountered my imaginary friends. I had two of them, but I haven’t seen them, or not seen them since I was about six years old. Their names were Gabbi and Ding Dong. Do those names ring a bell (no pun intended)?
I wonder if some of you have ever encountered those two wacky guys. Now Gabbi really wasn’t so wacky. He definitely was the wiser of the two, always there with good advice for me. Ding Dong on the other hand was just plain silly. For instance, it was Ding Dong who told me that the manhole in front of the apartment I lived in on Cary Street had a man living in it. “Why else would they call it a manhole?” Ding Dong once asked me. It made perfect sense to me. I used to spend several hours a day collecting cigarette butts to feed the man in the manhole. I think the butts idea was Ding Dong’s as well.
Gabbi was more of an older brother type…a protector if you will. I used to ride my red fire engine up and down the sidewalk all day and no one ever bothered me. I think that was because of Gabbi.
Gabbi was also the one who told me about Magic Alka Seltzer. Have you ever heard of it? It was good for all sorts of problems. For instance, if we were playing cops and robbers, and I got shot, I’d just pop a Magic Alka Seltzer in my mouth (imaginarily, that is) and my wounds would go away. In fact, Magic Alka Seltzer could even bring you back from the dead. Since my brothers were constantly killing me, in our games, that is, Magic Alka Seltzer was of real benefit. And believe you me; the Magic Alka Seltzer was very frustrating to them.
That’s been a half century ago and I have a feeling that Gabbi and Ding Dong are no longer working the Carytown beat. You don’t see kids out, by themselves, playing in the alleys and on the sidewalks, like you did when I was a kid. Parents lock the kids in the house, behind chains and deadbolts and the like. True, many of the old houses and apartments have been converted into stores, but there are still plenty of houses down that way. I don’t suppose the man is still in the manhole, although there are some folks roaming the street that look as if that may be where they’ve come from.
I have to admit, I haven’t heard anyone mention Gabbi and Ding Dong in many, many years. I think when my family moved to Roanoke when I was six, they came along. So, they might still be down that way. If you see ‘em, or, rather, don’t see ‘em, tell them I said “hello.”
By the time one reaches their mid-fifties, a large number of the non-imaginary people he or she has loved the most in life, are no longer around. I would think that’s the especially bad part about living to really old age…you see virtually everyone you have ever loved die.
I guess that’s a big part of the reason I’d like to meet up with Gabbi and Ding Dong again. I’d love to get my hands on some of that Magic Alka Seltzer.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
A Lesson in Stupidity
People often approach me on the street. "Steve," they'll say, "there are so many stupid things going on in the world today." I usually agree with them. Then they'll ask me, "Steve, what sorts of things do you think are stupid?"
I'm not quite sure why so many people hang on my every thought. Maybe it's charisma. Or maybe I'm simply on some egomaniacal fantasy trip. If that's the deal, it has been a good ride. But, whatever the case, I'll be glad to share with you what sort of things I think are stupid.
Speaking of fantasy, which we kind of were, I think fantasy football leagues are really stupid. I know other sports have them as well, but it seems that the fantasy football folks really create this imaginary world and move right in, lock, stock, and barrel. The fantasy fans are so fanatical that there are radio programs on the sports channels devoted to how your fantasy teams are doing.Grown ups call these shows and really talk about how their teams are doing. People! You don't own a team. You probably don't even own a TV. You're stupid.
Now, I'm not totally putting this sort of fantasy thing down. When I was a kid, I had my own fantasies. I probably shouldn't talk about it, but, what the heck. When I was in my teens, I created a fantasy TV network. I created programs, made up schedules, cancelled shows, etc. Then I created a TV star who got mad at me for cancelling his show and killed me. That kind of put an end to my fantasy.
I really wish someone would explain this fantasy football craze. It sounds like grown ups playing dolls, but then maybe I'm just a very stupid man. That has been suggested on more than one occasion.
By the way, have any of you ever been attacked by a crazed archaeologist? I can't talk about it here, but call me sometime and I'll tell you a horror story, the likes of which you've probably never even imagined in your worst nightmares.
But, back to stupid...I think the shoelaces they make today are stupid. I bought a pair of black dress shoes. They're quite unstylish, just plain, black shoes with flat fronts. The shoelaces that came with them could be used to lace up army boots. I'm guessing each shoelace is about six feet long. When I tie them in a regular way, the non-bow end hangs down to the ground. I'm constantly stepping on them. I probably have to tie my shoes fifteen to twenty times a day. I never enter a building without first leaning up against the wall and sneaking in a quick tie.
The only way to keep the dangly ends from dangling too low is to tie bows that are so big that when I enter a room, people think I'm kicking two black gift-wrapped packages into the room in front of me. I could double knot, but that scares me. I'm afraid I'll create some sort of nuclear knot that can't be undone.
Is there some new law that shoelaces have to be so long? I thought that maybe the Romanians who manufactured my elegant shoes just chose the wrong size laces, so I went to the grocery store the other day and bought some new shoelaces. The sign on the rack said I was buying classic shoelaces, as opposed to the sports shoelaces they also sold in the store.
Now, if you had a pair of boring dress shoes, the kind really bland old men wear, wouldn't you think that "classic" would be the correct designation...especially if your only other choice was "sport?" Yeah, me too. But my new shoelaces are even longer than the original laces. I could easily lace up a straight jacket with them, which, if I have to keep stopping and tying my shoes, I will need.
I'm such a pathetic sight, that people on the street will stop and offer to tie my shoes for me. Do I look that old, decrepit, senile, or, yes, stupid? I'll go into important business appointments and everyone in the office or restaurant or wherever, will stop what they’re doing and stare at my shoes.
I guess with those long strings flapping with my every step, it might look as if I came into the room hoping to rope a calf or two. And, then when I stop, I invariably step on one of the dangler ends. Then, when I start to move, I’ll lift the foot that’s anchored to the ground by my other foot pressing on the shoelace. What happens is that I’ll start to move and trip over myself. I do that constantly. I really think the shoelace people are stupid.
There’s another group of people I think are stupid. I label them as “Everyone else on the highway except me.” Sadly, it’s gotten to the point that no one knows how to drive anymore. Like, what’s with these idiots who’ll drive right up on your bumper and flash their lights at you when you’re in the passing lane and already going ten miles over the speed limit?
And, what’s wrong with these idiots in front of me who are only going seven miles over the speed limit...in the passing lane. And, why are they so stupid that when I flash my lights they don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t both of these groups of fools know that ten miles over the limit is the new speed limit? I mean come on people...wise up and get with the program.
There are a lot of other stupid things I could talk about if space permitted. I could go on all day about restaurant servers who’ll vacuum under your feet while you’re still eating. I’ll save them for another day. On a similar note, how about those McDonald brainiacs who turn the soft serve machine off a half hour before closing time in order to start cleaning it? Now, that’s stupid. If the store closes at 11:00 PM, I should be able to order anything I want up until that moment. Who cares if they have to wait for me to enjoy my cone before they can start cleaning? Not I.
And one more thing, what’s with archaeologists today? Are they stupid or what? Oh yeah, I can’t talk about that here. Never mind.
I'm not quite sure why so many people hang on my every thought. Maybe it's charisma. Or maybe I'm simply on some egomaniacal fantasy trip. If that's the deal, it has been a good ride. But, whatever the case, I'll be glad to share with you what sort of things I think are stupid.
Speaking of fantasy, which we kind of were, I think fantasy football leagues are really stupid. I know other sports have them as well, but it seems that the fantasy football folks really create this imaginary world and move right in, lock, stock, and barrel. The fantasy fans are so fanatical that there are radio programs on the sports channels devoted to how your fantasy teams are doing.Grown ups call these shows and really talk about how their teams are doing. People! You don't own a team. You probably don't even own a TV. You're stupid.
Now, I'm not totally putting this sort of fantasy thing down. When I was a kid, I had my own fantasies. I probably shouldn't talk about it, but, what the heck. When I was in my teens, I created a fantasy TV network. I created programs, made up schedules, cancelled shows, etc. Then I created a TV star who got mad at me for cancelling his show and killed me. That kind of put an end to my fantasy.
I really wish someone would explain this fantasy football craze. It sounds like grown ups playing dolls, but then maybe I'm just a very stupid man. That has been suggested on more than one occasion.
By the way, have any of you ever been attacked by a crazed archaeologist? I can't talk about it here, but call me sometime and I'll tell you a horror story, the likes of which you've probably never even imagined in your worst nightmares.
But, back to stupid...I think the shoelaces they make today are stupid. I bought a pair of black dress shoes. They're quite unstylish, just plain, black shoes with flat fronts. The shoelaces that came with them could be used to lace up army boots. I'm guessing each shoelace is about six feet long. When I tie them in a regular way, the non-bow end hangs down to the ground. I'm constantly stepping on them. I probably have to tie my shoes fifteen to twenty times a day. I never enter a building without first leaning up against the wall and sneaking in a quick tie.
The only way to keep the dangly ends from dangling too low is to tie bows that are so big that when I enter a room, people think I'm kicking two black gift-wrapped packages into the room in front of me. I could double knot, but that scares me. I'm afraid I'll create some sort of nuclear knot that can't be undone.
Is there some new law that shoelaces have to be so long? I thought that maybe the Romanians who manufactured my elegant shoes just chose the wrong size laces, so I went to the grocery store the other day and bought some new shoelaces. The sign on the rack said I was buying classic shoelaces, as opposed to the sports shoelaces they also sold in the store.
Now, if you had a pair of boring dress shoes, the kind really bland old men wear, wouldn't you think that "classic" would be the correct designation...especially if your only other choice was "sport?" Yeah, me too. But my new shoelaces are even longer than the original laces. I could easily lace up a straight jacket with them, which, if I have to keep stopping and tying my shoes, I will need.
I'm such a pathetic sight, that people on the street will stop and offer to tie my shoes for me. Do I look that old, decrepit, senile, or, yes, stupid? I'll go into important business appointments and everyone in the office or restaurant or wherever, will stop what they’re doing and stare at my shoes.
I guess with those long strings flapping with my every step, it might look as if I came into the room hoping to rope a calf or two. And, then when I stop, I invariably step on one of the dangler ends. Then, when I start to move, I’ll lift the foot that’s anchored to the ground by my other foot pressing on the shoelace. What happens is that I’ll start to move and trip over myself. I do that constantly. I really think the shoelace people are stupid.
There’s another group of people I think are stupid. I label them as “Everyone else on the highway except me.” Sadly, it’s gotten to the point that no one knows how to drive anymore. Like, what’s with these idiots who’ll drive right up on your bumper and flash their lights at you when you’re in the passing lane and already going ten miles over the speed limit?
And, what’s wrong with these idiots in front of me who are only going seven miles over the speed limit...in the passing lane. And, why are they so stupid that when I flash my lights they don’t know what I’m saying. Don’t both of these groups of fools know that ten miles over the limit is the new speed limit? I mean come on people...wise up and get with the program.
There are a lot of other stupid things I could talk about if space permitted. I could go on all day about restaurant servers who’ll vacuum under your feet while you’re still eating. I’ll save them for another day. On a similar note, how about those McDonald brainiacs who turn the soft serve machine off a half hour before closing time in order to start cleaning it? Now, that’s stupid. If the store closes at 11:00 PM, I should be able to order anything I want up until that moment. Who cares if they have to wait for me to enjoy my cone before they can start cleaning? Not I.
And one more thing, what’s with archaeologists today? Are they stupid or what? Oh yeah, I can’t talk about that here. Never mind.
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